Natural Corrections
by Allysa.cole
Summary: I never expected to find myself facing life without my parents this early. I'm in-was in-high school. Isn't struggling through state college supposed to come after that? I guess plans can change suddenly, since I find myself graduating Walker-Killing University (Summa Cum Laude, no less) pretty much on accident. / First Walking Dead fanfic, OC, no romance. All readers welcome!


**Hello, Fanfic world! So I've been following this show for the longest time (getting around to reading the comics) and I had this idea to tell a survivor's story that wasn't as clear cut or 'point A to point B' as some of the traveling plots are in the show. A different point of view, in a sense, one that was wholly messy and unpredictable and full of indecision. **

**This is my first attempt at writing a Walking Dead fanfic, or any fanfic at all, so I would appreciate reviews or PMs telling me how I'm doing! :) Thanks for clicking on my story, guys. You're great!**

**I do not own The Walking Dead, or anything associated with it. I own only my OCs.**

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It had started out as a normal day; a normal Wednesday. The sky was clear, the birds were chirping, and the people were…normal. But that's how everything starts out. Eventually things have to go to hell, right? It's just nature correcting itself, trying to make sure that we never have too much of a good thing.

I lived in King County, Georgia. Born and raised in a just-on-the-edge-of-Suburbia rural town about two hours away from Atlanta. We only had a Sherriff's station, a small hospital, two schools, and a mini outdoor plaza with the _best_ café, but we were still one of the most populated places in the whole county. On this particular Wednesday, I was walking with friends on my way to school. We were talking, laughing, and I was complaining about my… never mind. It seems so trivial now. I remember that day perfectly, every step I took and every word I said; I remember. Things only started getting strange after the bell rang and classes went on; people were checking out left and right. The teachers swore up and down that nothing was wrong when we asked, but I saw Ms. Williams talking to the cop normally stationed at the front office. She was crying, eyes red and hands covering her mouth. I was smart enough to know that something had happened, but I just kept moving on with life like naïve, inexperienced kids do. I should have demanded answers.

When I got home that evening, my parents were huddled around the TV. The news station that blared from the screen was the grainy, poorly funded program that only reported from the tri-county area. I was confused. My dad always said that political extremists had this channel by the balls, so we never watched it for fear of my 'indoctrination'. As I drew closer, I noticed my parents shaking their heads, barely registering that I had entered the house.

"What in God's name is _wrong_ with people? Just…I mean, he had a _kid_. What kind of sick…" my father trailed off as the reporter started speaking again. A disgusted expression seemed etched into his face.

"…what's going on?" I set my bags down, hesitantly moving closer.

"Officer Grimes was shot today on the job. They got the guy who did it, though. Some comfort," he laughed once, a hollow, brittle, pained sound. "…some comfort."

"Oh my God—is he okay? They got the shooter? They kill that bastard?" I said frantically.

"Watch your mouth, Allie." Dad snapped, still intent on the television.

My mother started sobbing, face buried in her hands. I had seen her cry before, but not like this. Wracking sobs shook her thin body, and somehow that scared and saddened me more than the story she was crying over. I started to tear up, but managed to fight the burning sensation back with a great effort. I knew how this was affecting her. Officer Rick Grimes and his wife Lori were friends of my parents; they moved in down the street nearly twelve years before, lugging with them boxes and couches and a baby in Mrs. Grimes' belly. I was four years older than their son Carl, who took the role as my 'adopted' brother. I earned my first twenty bucks babysitting that kid when I was ten, and our moms worked out together at the local fitness center. It was safe to say that we were pretty close, as far as neighbors go. Those years of friendship only made this infinitely harder, as I watched my mom struggle to answer my question.

"…He's in a—a coma," my mother replied through her tears. "Reporter says trauma and blood loss…I called Mrs. Grimes…we're going to visit him at the hospital tomorrow, help them through this."

My head began to pound with questions. I wanted to scream; there wasn't enough _information _in the news report. They didn't answer the _important_ questions. _Are Lori and Carl okay? Is Rick gonna live? What the _hell _am I doing just _sitting_ here?_ So much was happening; I could only pray, and watch the pixelated anchor with anxious eyes. My parents and I walked down the Grimes' house as soon as they returned from the hospital. Lori said the doctors kicked them out so they could do an in-depth examination of the bullet wound. I could see the cracks behind her placid face; she was breaking. It was only the first day, and she was already fractured. My mother told me to comfort Carl while the adults talked in hushed whispers within the living room. We stood together in the foyer, this poor little boy and I. We merely stared at each other for several seconds before he threw his arms around my waist, head pressed into my stomach, and cried in the way only a child could cry. I stooped to his level and hugged him back. I struggled to find the words to make everything better.

But there were no words to say.

The next morning, I awoke to a day that was sunnier and more beautiful than any day had the right to be, under the circumstances. Not a cloud floated through the sky, and the thick summer air coming through my window smelled like green leaves with the faintest twist of earth. Still, this day had no right to be glad in any way, and I emphasized that to the outside world by slamming the glass panes forcefully closed at the sill. I wondered how the two Grimes down the street felt as they emerged from sleep, to see a day so gorgeous yet be unable to enjoy it.

My parents allowed me to skip school in order to visit with them. When we arrived at Harrison Hospital just after noon it was obvious that there was a slight flaw in my previous thought; Mrs. Grimes had clearly not slept at all the previous night. Her eyes were red and raw looking, and she kept wiping away invisible tears. Dark circles made the rest of her face look wan and bone-white. _That's the face a dead woman has_, I found myself thinking, before shaking the thought away.

We sat in the waiting area, other people coming and going. I watched as a gurney was rushed into one of the wards, a nurse speaking very quickly about 'a high fever and delusions'. The person in the wheeled bed cried softly and cradled their lower arm in their hand. I saw with horror that the upper sheet was stained with blood. I checked to make sure the young boy beside me wasn't looking at the grisly sight, but I shouldn't have worried. Carl sat in one of the scratchy red-cushioned chairs, head turned expectantly towards the wide double-doors that led to the Intensive Care ward. They didn't open to visitors until one o'clock, but Carl was preparing to be the first one there. The digital numbers overhead clicked slowly by. Twelve fifty-two.

"How're you holding up?" My voice seemed to startle him from wherever he was inside his head.

"Fine," he mumbled, nodding quickly at me before resuming his vigil, one arm slung over the back of the seat. "I just wanna see my dad."

"I know. Only a few minutes till the doors open," I was scraping for words in the back of my head, but I still sounded like I was trying to comfort a four year old. Carl was almost twelve; surely he needed more than a child's reassurances. "This…this is a good hospital. They're taking care of him."

"But what if it's not enough?" Carl swiped his hand across his face, and I realized that he had just brushed away a tear. "What if they can't help him?"

I tried to speak confidently, but the syllables came out slow. The sobbing patient with the bloody arm replayed in my head on a loop. "…they will. 'Sides, your dad…he's a fighter. They've had people recover from worse—"

"Course they have! Your dad's the toughest cop we got in the squad. He'll bounce back; you'll see." The new voice made me jump, though it wasn't unfamiliar. Carl and I both turned to see a dark-haired man in a police uniform standing a few feet away.

"Officer Walsh," I gave a half-hearted smile. "They let you off work to visit?"

The little I knew of Officer Shane Walsh came from New Year's get-togethers and second-hand stories given by my parents. I hadn't even known his first name until I heard Rick make a semi-tipsy toast at the Fourth of July party in 2009. Walsh had always merely been the Officer-Who-Gave-The-Anti-Drug-Talks-At-School. The fact that I knew so little about him always made me a bit uneasy in his presence, but I looked amiably up at him until he gave his answer.

"Nah; my rotation just doesn't come up till two. I got time to stop by the hospital. Man, I tell you," he shook his head. "Yesterday? It was a crazy one. Biggest call we've ever got. Big movie car chase, like. We couldn't've had a better guy to set up the block than _your_ dad," Walsh pointed to Carl. "No better man for the job. He's a real hero, Rick is."

Carl looked slightly mollified by this, though it wasn't a huge improvement. He wiped his eyes one last time. "How…how'd it happen?"

"Just…well, you know," the officer looked as though the memory caused him pain. He pursed his lips and continued shaking his head. "None of us coulda seen it coming. It just happened. Real fast. One second everything's fine and then…another guy in the car. Didn't know he was there."

The boy nodded. He had heard it all on the news the previous night, I knew, but he needed to hear it from a first-hand source. Carl seemed to have much more energy when the doors to the ICU suddenly swung wide open. I noted that they had opened three minutes late, but the nurse who emerged seemed to be in no hurry. Her greying sandy hair was wrapped up tight in a strict bun, and the clip on her pocket stated that her name was Anna. She brandished a clipboard at Lori.

"You Mrs. Grimes? Lori Grimes?"

Lori nodded quickly and stepped forward. Nurse Anna tapped several of the log entries on the file paper. "We do hourly checks on the patients here, see. We've actually recorded two instances of lucidity, which _suggests_ that your husband's condition has a chance of improving over the next few days," she took the board back. "But I'm afraid we can't promise anything yet."

Mrs. Grimes seemed to be made marginally happier by the report. She thanked the nurse and took Carl's hand, leading him into the ICU. The nurse counted everyone before announcing that if there was anyone coming after us, we could only let one more in.

"Limit of seven." She stated before resuming her post at the nurse's station.

Mom put a hand on my shoulder and guided me into the opened area. I wrinkled my nose as a sickly-sweet, antisepticky smell washed over me. I mean, the rest of the hospital stank like that too, but it seemed extra concentrated in this wing.

When we arrived at the hospital room, my dad held the door open for us. I had visited a grandparent in the Intensive Care ward before, but I had been very small and immune to the shock of what it did to people. I was old enough to notice the changes now.

Officer Grimes was someone I knew well. He was a bit thinner than my own father, but stronger looking. The man in the hospital bed was not how I remembered him. His skin was a sickly grey, and the monitors and wires hooked to his neck made him look like some medical school cadaver, rather than a man who had been walking and talking and functioning a mere day before. It felt wrong to see him lying there, all helpless and weak.

I could see my sentiments were felt by others as well. My mom and dad hugged each other, both fighting back tears. Officer Walsh put a comforting hand on Lori's shoulder, and Carl took the seat next to his father's motionless body.

"I miss you, Dad…" he whispered.

The expression on the kid's face was heartbreaking, and I inhaled sharply at the sudden burn from my eyes. We all stood in silence for several minutes, each unsure of what to say. My mother broke the quiet with a wavering question. "Lori…did you eat today?"

She got a small shake of the head from the brunette woman. Mom frowned in concern. "Or dinner last night?"

Another no.

"And you didn't sleep…"

Lori placed a hand against the side of her face. "I'm fine. _I'm fine_."

"Lori, you really should eat _something_…" Mom took Mrs. Grimes' arm slowly. "Here…let's go to the cafeteria for a minute. There's no sense in starving yourself. We'll come right back. I promise."

Mrs. Grimes looked as though she were about to resist, but finally nodded. She pulled away from Officer Walsh and followed my mother, walking like she was collapsing in on herself. Carl gave a long look to his father, then slowly went after his mom. "I gotta make sure she's okay." He explained to us, almost apologetically.

Walsh watched Lori go before checking his watch and moving to the door as well. "One-thirty; shift's up soon," he paused, looking to my dad. "Let…let me know if anythin' changes."

My father nodded before looking back to me. "You doing okay, Allie?"

I took a deep breath before responding. "Yeah…yeah, I'm good."

We both looked awkwardly at the floor. Neither of us could ever bring up words at will. Coherent sentences had to be carefully considered, revised, and processed for clarity before they ever even surfaced. My mother had joked that the two of us could miss out on whole conversations before we even got up the nerve to speak. She said the hesitance was endearing, but I knew it really just made for a person that sucked at giving comfort.

So I stood there, glancing every so often to the man on the hospital bed. I felt a vein pulse in my lower eyelid, wanting so desperately to say something—to console, to regret, to _apologize_; I didn't know—but found my thoughts moving so much faster than my mouth could hope to go. After what seemed like an eternity, my dad tapped me on the shoulder.

"I'll be back in a bit. Bathroom," he stated. "You'll be fine for a few minutes? Mom should be back soon…"

I nodded quickly, and waited until the room was empty. Though there was a restroom attached to this one my dad would only go into ones that didn't have medical equipment hung on the walls, germophobe as he was. He'd be going back down to the lobby, I knew. I slowly took the seat next to the hospital bed, hearing the heart monitor bleep rhythmically every second. The pulses were steady. Rick's heart was still strong.

"You're still hanging on," I muttered carefully, not quite sure if he could hear me. Was that how comas worked? Mr. Grimes didn't give any indication that he had any knowledge of my presence. Still, the next words each seemed to carry a leaden weight before falling clumsily from my tongue. "Don't…know if you can hear me. I heard what happened, and you're a brave man. Carl's a...he's a good kid. A great kid. And if anything happens," I paused. Why did this conversation seem more important than anything I had ever done? "we'll take care of Lori and Carl. I'll make sure they're okay. Me personally. You can count on me."

_Shut up—you're being stupid_, my mind hissed at me. _He can't hear you. One-way conversations don't have a point. No purpose. _But it felt differently. The heart-monitor seemed a little louder, Rick's face a bit less pallid, his breaths a little more sure. I folded my hands into my lap and waited with the officer for his family to return.

We left the hospital around two thirty. Lori thanked us for coming along, but she and Carl were going to stay until they were evicted at three. The car ride home was quiet except for the radio, four pop songs finishing before we pulled into the driveway of our house. We all went our separate ways before reconvening in the evening. My dad took a survey on what we wanted for dinner, then popped a frozen pizza into the oven. While it cooked, he pored over that morning's newspaper while my mom and I watched the state-wide news. They had barely got to discussing the DOW changes before she launched into questioning.

"You were quiet at the hospital today. It's really sad, isn't it? Are you feeling alright?"

I looked back at her. With her short, sandy hair and round, open face, it was hard to tell that we were related. Mom's quick wit and verbal accuracy hadn't been passed down either. She could say exactly what she wanted to say, when she wanted it said. I, on the other hand, took a moment to respond.

"I'm fine, I guess. I feel bad for Carl. And Mrs. Grimes."

"Yeah. Hope they're alright. How's…how's school going?"

"It's fine."

"Your friends? Liv, right? And Ben?"

"Yeah. They're pretty good. Ben's outta school for some Scouts thing. Liv's grounded for something," I suddenly realized that talking to my mother was no longer like talking to one of my dearest confidantes. Somewhere, somehow, we had grown apart. A sudden wave of guilt crashed over me—one of her oldest friends was in the hospital, and I couldn't even find a way to open up, to be a support to her. I tried again. "How's work? You had a…meeting, right?"

A corner of her mouth lifted. "I have lots of meetings. The one on Monday was about my account with the bio-chemical plant on the Ocoee River. They got another lawsuit, and I'm gonna be the one to finally bring them down."

I smiled. Mom was an environmental lawyer; someone who handled ecological issues caused by corporations or put people who experimented on animals behind bars. I didn't know much about the chemical plant other than that my mom loathed them. I nodded enthusiastically and mimed applause. Mom took a mock bow from the couch before our attentions were drawn to the TV. A blonde woman with an authoritative voice was gesturing to various red dots on a screen behind her.

"…little known strain the Center for Disease Control has dubbed the 'T' virus. Over a dozen reports have been filed at various hospitals around Atlanta, with similar cases coming in from Stockholm, Tokyo, Seattle, and Sidney, among many others. While these have been viewed with varying intensities, officials confirm that symptoms include high grade fever, vomiting, rapid dehydration, and delirium. If you see anyone exhibiting these symptoms, please contact the nearest medical facility. Do not attempt to move them on your own. The transference methods of this disease have not been identified, though most new cases report having come into contact with others previously affected."

My dad had appeared in the living room, still holding the paper. "There was an article on that," he said. "One of the columnists. He's predicting a pandemic of this 'T' disease. But he's always been worked up over this stuff. He thought the Swine Flu would wipe out North America."

"Right," my mom nodded. "They'll have a vaccine for this by the end of the month."

"But I hate shots." I muttered.

"Well, then; I suppose you'll be the only one in this whole county to catch it."

I laughed at that, then.

"The pizza done yet?" I asked, reaching for the remote. "The Voice is about to start."

The next morning, Mom turned on the news again while I contemplated my Fruit Loops. "I want to see what the weather's like this week," she said. "Going up to the Ocoee tomorrow to get evidence for court."

Instead of weather, a broadcast was playing. A different anchor detailed what he called the 'T Watch', and I noted with some alarm that the number of dots on the map had more than tripled overnight.

"Reports of increasing intensity have bombarded cities across the world, and authorities have declared a watch for infected individuals that did not receive immediate medical attention. If you see anyone exhibiting the following symptoms: convulsions, fever, cold sweat, delirium, vomiting, and excessive discharge from the nose, mouth, and eyes, notify medical authorities or law enforcement immediately. Mortality rate has so far been one hundred percent, with the surviving afflicted showing little improvements in their conditions. The first fatalities have been recorded in the following cities: Abuja, Amsterdam, Astana, Asuncion, Atlanta, Baghdad, Baku, Bangkok, Belfast…"

A scrolling list of cities stretched across the screen, never ending. Mom set her breakfast plate on the table and moved closer to the television. "Oh, my God…"

Dad walked into the kitchen, laptop cradled on his arm as he scrolled down a page. "The number of cases doubled eight hours ago, and quadrupled right after. Apparently the city-wide hospitals aren't able to keep up with the flow of sick people."

"How could it have spread so quickly? That's impossible!"

"They believe that one infected is capable of sickening over a dozen others. And they're being tentative. Apparently no one has been able to report on the advanced stages of the disease," Dad frowned and peered closer at the screen, adjusting his glasses. "They restrict access to patients. Close off the wings. Then some government guys come in to 'clear up everything'."

"And here?" I narrowed my eyes. "Any cases here?"

"One sec…" he typed slowly with one hand. "The 'T Watch' got its own site last night. You can track the reported cases in your area. Only the reported ones, though…King…County…"

I turned back to the television screen while the page loaded. They were down to the 'W's, but still going. So many cities. Some of them were small ones, too; ones that I only knew from hearing mentioned from vacation trips. Mom exhaled softly before looking expectantly to my dad. "Well?"

He shook his head. "Only one reported. But they say that it's a watch area. Murray County's got over twenty cases close to the border near us."

"Right, then." Mom pointed to me. "_You're_ not going to school today."

My dad raised one eyebrow. "She's already missed a day, and I don't think she's in any danger…"

"And I don't think _I_ want her exposed to that! You said _one_ reported case. How many are people who just haven't watched the news? How many go to her _school_?" Mom had her hands on her hips, and her face had gone into what we called 'Lawyer-Stare'. There was no winning when she employed that.

My dad had never been able to argue with her, anyway. "If you think she's better off here…"

"I do."

"…fine. But _just_ today."

I shrugged and went back to eating. _Not going to complain_, I thought. As an upperclassman at my small high school, I was perfectly happy for whatever breaks I could get. Mom finished gathering up her papers from the countertop in the kitchen.

"Going down to my office," she said, kissing my dad on the cheek. "I'll try to leave work early."

I smiled at that. She did her lawyer-ing from home occasionally, hiding down in the basement with her computer and file folders of evidence. It was quieter than trying to type something in her noisy-ass cubicle, she would claim. She could get work done here.

Dad waved goodbye to me as he went out to the car. He had a job at some small-scale accounting firm in the next town over, but made a point to never bring his work home with him if he could help it. _Numbers are nicer than people_, he said, _but not many people like numbers_. I agreed with that second part.

Soon I was alone in the kitchen, the television humming softly over the couch. I finished off my breakfast and put the bowl in the sink, turning my attention back to the screen. The list had finished scrolling, but the suited man looked a bit more worried. He shared the screen with an out-of-studio interviewee, a woman in a helmetless Hazmat suit. The banner across the bottom said that she was a Doctor Candace Jenner from the CDC, stationed in some Fulton County hospital I had never heard of. Confused, I seated myself in the center of the couch and watched the strange conversation take place.

"You say that there's been little progress made with this virus?" the anchor asked concernedly. The female on the other screen gestured behind her, where a line of people and cars trailed to the doors of the hospital.

"I mean, you can look at this place. Over three hundred new patients in the last hour, but doctors say that as few as four of them could be infected. Keeping this many people in one place can be…well, really chaotic. The ambulances are having difficulty keeping up with the number of house calls."

"What would you say is the best course of action for someone who believes they, or one of their family members, may be infected?"

"The chance of infection is very small. We think this virus is a mutated strain of influenza, so the contagious properties are the same. Sterilize contaminated surfaces, wash hands, and attempt to stay away from people who may be sick. If you think you have come into contact with an infected individual, monitor your temperature for twenty-four hours. We believe that symptoms may become apparent in as little as thirty minutes."

"Can we expect any more details on this?"

"We're working on a vaccination at the moment, gathering samples from patients. We expect it should be completed and ready for distribution within the next few weeks," Candace seemed to hesitate for a moment. "Circumstances permitting."

"The mortality rates—they've been recorded at staggeringly high numbers. I don't want to sound panicked, but it doesn't seem like we know how to cure it at all." The anchor frowned, obviously noticing the tentativeness of the doctor's answer.

"Those that die are usually elderly…or suffering from a preexisting condition before becoming infected with the T virus." She responded curtly. "Same with any influenza."

"Right. Thank you for talking with us, Dr. Jenner."

"My pleasure." Her camera cut out, and the screen expanded to include only the man before panning out to show a table of people. A pretty, Hispanic woman shuffled a few pages before leaning forward to speak.

"The government of Georgia would like the public to be aware that the following schools and services are not operational due to the influx of cases: Atkinson County public transport, Baker County schools, Bibb County schools and public transport, Clarke County schools and transport, Cobb County schools, Dekalb County schools and public transport…"

The county names scrolled across the bottom of the screen, going on and on. Douglas, Fannin, Forsyth, Fulton. My eyebrows shot up as they announced that MARTA was at a standstill. The heart of Atlanta, silenced. The J's scrolled past. Then the L's. I sighed, leaning back. King County wasn't impacted by this yet. The woman resumed her rhythmic recitation. Suddenly, the news camera shook and shifted as a balding man with civilian clothes pushed past the studio operators to stand before the screen, a few surprised shouts going up from off-view. There was an unidentifiable look in his eyes; it was unsettling. He limped and clutched every so often at his right leg, where the bottom of his jeans was dark with some shiny substance. The news anchors around the table slowly rose. It was obvious that they had no more idea who this guy was than anyone else did.

"What's going on—what are you doing?" one of the anchors spoke loudly, his voice barely rising above the commands of the managers to remove the man. The intruder twisted a hand in his shirt, breathing heavily, before turning to the lead anchor and thrusting a CD in a paper envelope into her hand. The sound of his voice was something frantic, the sound of something that had been put through unbelievable things.

"Please—_please_! I'm from Atlanta, downtown! My friend—he took a video! _This_ video! The disease—it's not normal! Not _natural_! You have to let them know, _let the people know what's going on_!" His voice rose to a shriek, and I felt goosebumps crawl down my arms.

The anchorwoman was taken aback. She looked at the disc, then back to the man, who was still babbling about the secrets kept from the public. Gesturing with the CD, she prompted for more information. "Where's your friend now?"

"Dead—he's dead, they're all dead!"

"He got the disease? The T virus?"

"He got the disease. My son had the disease. He's the one that gave it to me!"

A collective uproar came from the newsroom as everyone tried to get far away from the man. He merely watched them back into the walls before sinking to his knees, beginning to sob. "I can't…I can't infect any of you _now_. Not till I turn," he hiccupped and reached for his pant leg, beginning to roll it up. "Like my son turned. And he wasn't my son after that."

I clapped a hand over my mouth as his ankle was exposed. Though someone pushed the camera out of the way immediately, it was enough to have the horror burned into my mind. Where pale flesh should have been a red, gaping hole wept blood, smeared crimson turning the leg of his dark jeans a shining, slick black. The bone was exposed, stark white around the red and putrefying flesh. Whatever had done this to him had obviously killed all the nerves in that area, or he was just really good at ignoring pain.

Before I could stop it, a shriek had torn from my throat to mingle with the ones on the television screen. I heard frantic pounding on the stairs before my mother emerged, eyes wide. "Allie? Allie, what's wrong?!"

I only pointed to the TV, shaking my head. She looked, and ventured into the room to stand before standing before the television, shaking her head. "What's going on? What is…is that the news station? Sweetie, what happened?"

Clutching a pillow tightly to my chest, I tried to find the words to depict what I had seen. "A…a man. He said he had a video—a CD—of what was happening in the city. He said people were…'turning'. I don't—I don't know what that means," I took a deep breath. "But something hurt him really bad. His leg—I only saw it for a second. He was really hurt. Like something tried to chew his foot off…" I paused, suddenly recalling a detail that hadn't registered before. "Mom, it looked like a person bite. Like on an apple, or something."

Mom looked like she was about to respond, but a person's face filled the camera lens in the newsroom. It was set upright again, and I saw that the man had been dragged off. A small streak of blood remained where he had exposed his wound, but the camera was turned away before it was too obvious. Several of the anchors had retaken their seats, two wearing white masks over their mouths and noses. The other three had decided to take their chances with the open air. The lead anchorwoman folded her hands atop the table to address the viewers.

"To our audience, we apologize for the disruption. The situation has been dealt with, and the potential information is being reviewed for authenticity at this moment…" she held a hand to her ear, obviously getting a prompt from the Bluetooth device settled there. She blinked slowly, a grave cast settling over her expression. "Georgia…the footage we are about to show may be disturbing to young or easily distressed viewers. However, this station feels that it is necessary to alert the public to what may or may not be an isolated incident. Please, remove your children from the room, as this clip is raw and unedited content."

Mom looked to me, silently asking whether I would stay. I breathed deeply and nodded. She sat on the couch next to me and held my hand tightly as the shaky video appeared on the left half of the screen.

_A bearded man's face appeared on the camera. His breath fogged the lens as he gasped for breath, several anguished screams echoing faintly in the background._

"_I think…" he panted. "I think I'm at a good distance. Whoever sees this needs…to know. We thought the disease got 'em. Killed 'em all. But it didn't. They came…came back. They aren't people. Not anymore. Whatever…whatever this thing is, it's changing 'em. They just get up…and eat. They eat p-AH!"_

_The camera shook violently as the man jerked backwards, throwing a decent view of a city street into focus. _Something_ lunged from underneath a parked car, swiping out with hooked fingers. A guttural rasp was barely audible as the thing dragged itself into view. _

_Smeared with dirt and blood, it was hard to tell what the writhing, grasping thing was. With a hiss, its face turned into the camera. A woman. It was some sort of woman. The man's legs kicked violently at it and a crunch was heard when a sneaker crushed a bloated hand against the pavement, a smear of blood and bone left behind. Still, it dragged itself forward, not showing any hint of pain. The bearded man managed to scramble to his feet and backed up, angling the camera to encompass the struggling female. Her legs, once they pulled free from under the car, were twisted and snapped. The bone leaked marrow onto the road, and the spaces where her thighs and stomach should have been were desiccated and torn._

"_See?!" The man's voice was an octave higher than before. "See? She isn't alive. She's dead! It's dead! The things got her, and ate her, and then she became one of them! It's what happens if they bite you! You _die_! And they're everywhere! More, every day! The public needs to know. Whoever gets this, tell everyone you can!"_

"_The dead are walking!"_

_The camera shook one last time as he turned to glance to the street. Several other people were running and at least five of the dead things were shuffling about, their legs strong enough to support them. The screen shifted as the man lifted his knee over the dead woman, though she…it…was not visible. He brought his foot down with force, and the image cut out before the aftermath could be shown._

The newsroom was dead silent. The anchors merely looked at each other, each at a loss for words. I winced as I realized my mother was holding my hand so tightly it hurt. My limbs felt like lead, and I could only look to my mom with my mouth open like some stupid fish. She was the one to speak first, though.

"Dead…dead people," she whispered. "That woman. She was _dead_."

I felt myself nodding, digging the nails of my free hand into my palm. My head snapped to attention as the anchorwoman flattened her hands against the table on the television. She took a few deep breaths before croaking out a statement.

"Ladies and gentlemen…viewers…it seems that we have a—a minor crisis on our hands. It is recommended that you all stay in your homes_. Do not_ approach those who are, or may be, infected, and await further instruction from our government or other administrative officials. Please, remain calm until this is all sorted out, and take proper precautions."

Mom stood suddenly, and I felt my arm be jerked with her as she rose. Fingers still clamped tightly on my hand, she shook her head and looked down at me. "Your dad…" she muttered frantically.

I pulled my hand free as she bolted to the phone, hearing her try to control her breathing as she punched the numbers violently. Suddenly, I felt my senses catch up to me, and I buried my head in my hands. I felt myself trembling a bit as the news station continued to list off the varying degrees of precaution we should be taking. Mom began crying into the phone and begging my dad to come home, and I guessed that he hadn't answered. My heart began pounding. He worked in one of the more populated areas of King County. Was this some sort of universal thing? Maybe Mom was right; maybe there were a lot more cases here than we thought. Maybe Dad was caught up in all that.

Maybe he was dead.

My chest suddenly constricted as I thought about that. But then, no, no; Dad was smart. He would be able to get out of that. And maybe only Atlanta was that bad. We were pretty out of the way. People weren't dying here. They couldn't be. They couldn't.

Mom dropped the phone on the counter and switched to the desktop we kept in the upstairs office for universal use. I forced myself to move over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Her breaths were shaky, while mine were shallow. The cheerful red logo of YouTube popped up, and Mom's fingers flew over the keys, chattering out a rhythm that spoke of desperation. After several tense seconds of loading, a list of videos popped up. We ignored the trailer for the new horror movie coming out this summer, and clicked on one that had a meager nine hundred views.

As it began playing, we noticed that it was much the same kind of thing that the Atlanta video had. The only real difference was that this was filmed in Seattle. The suggested videos. We scanned through them. All similar cases, but different places. Albuquerque, Chicago, Paris, Montreal, Tokyo. All had been uploaded less than twenty-four hours ago.

"It's the whole world," Mom whispered. "The whole entire world..."

The images on the screen, broken bodies stumbling after screaming survivors, humans getting caught in a storm of teeth and nails and screams of terror, people being _eaten_. Mom and I watched in mute silence. The sharp sound of the phone ringing caused us both to jump before she had lunged to answer it.

"Hello?! Hello?" she covered her mouth. "Oh my God, Jon! Jon! Where are you?!"

I slumped over the chair, relieved, as Mom grabbed me and kissed my forehead. She ran a hand down her face as my dad responded, beginning to tear up again. "Oh, thank God you're okay! You saw the news? I'm so happy you're safe…the news, it was horrible…"

I finally broke my silence. "He's coming home? He can come back soon?"

Mom nodded quickly before covering the mouthpiece. "He says he'll be home by two."

"Can I talk to him?"

"Jon, Allie wants to say hi," she spoke slowly. "Okay…mm-hm. I love you too, sweetheart. Bye-bye."

I seized the phone right away. "Hey, Dad!"

He gave me a 'hi' back, and I heard the squeak of his office chair as he turned around. "Your mom says some crazy stuff happened on the news."

"Yeah," my smile fell. "In the cities, there were...dead people. They were alive, though, too. It was h…weird." I almost said _horrifying_, but I couldn't sound scared. Not if this shit was just starting.

"Well, YouTube's blocked at my office, so you'll have to show me when I get home. Okay? I'll see you soon, Allie. And tell your mom that everything's gonna be fine. This is either some sort of exaggeration or a load of bull."

"No, dad! I saw the videos, I saw the dead people! It's real!" I clamped my teeth down on my knuckle, frustration building in my chest. Why wasn't he _believing_ us? Did he really think the media would blow this all out of proportion? Something like _this_?

"I'll have a look when I get home, okay? I'll be there at two, if it makes your mom feel better," he said something about a meeting to someone outside his office before returning to the phone. "I got a conference now, but I'll be home soon, okay? Find out what homework you have tonight. Love ya, Allie."

"But, Dad—" the line went dead. I turned to my mom, who looked at me inquisitively.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Dad…he doesn't believe us. He thinks the news was making a huge deal about nothing. They wouldn't do that, right?" I leaned back and set the phone on the counter beside me.

"No, no they wouldn't," She agreed, though I saw her glance to the paused video on the computer with new doubt. "It wouldn't make sense. They wouldn't scare people without a reason. Your dad'll see."

I also looked long and hard at the grainy footage. The description was in Arabic, with an English translation saying that the events had been shot in Baghdad. A man in a blurry blue shirt was chasing several locals, one leg close to falling off and an arm entirely missing. I clicked Play and watched an Iraqi law enforcement official club the dead thing across the face with an automatic rifle. Instead of staying down, the corpse got right back up, swiping for the uniformed man. I closed the browser before the part I knew was about to happen happened, suddenly struck with a new thought. _I'll make sure they're okay. Me personally. You can count on me._

"Mom—y'need to call Mrs. Grimes."

Mom had done most of the talking on the phone. From the muffled voices on the other line, I could tell that Lori was at least a little worried, though mostly skeptical. Her response to my mom's proposal to start planning an evacuation route was one of stern refusal. Mom said Lori refused to leave her husband.

"They do separate hospital evacuations," she had said exasperatedly. "He'd be one of the first people to be taken to the refugee camps."

But Lori had settled on a resounding no, and my mom shook her head as she hung up. "I guess we'll have to see how things go on. I trust the military. It won't get outside Atlanta borders. Or any big city."

I had agreed. Blind faith. We wouldn't leave without Lori and Carl, and they wouldn't leave without Rick. Granted, my mother and I weren't fans of leaving him behind either, but Mom had a point about the refugee evacuations. The next few hours were spent in front of the television. We changed channels several times to see if the stories were the same, and were surprised.

"…_the military force has been enough to stop the cases of what communities are referring to as the 'undead' in Kansas City. It is advised that, as militant forces are deployed to each capitol within the States, the viewers should make plans to evacuate to the larger cities…"_

"…_stay in your homes, do not permit entry to those who have been exposed to the infection. This virus is active and dangerous…"_

"…_militant officials have instructed the populace to continue their lives as normally as possible. This infection is well contained in small areas and streets within heavily populated regions, and should be under control within this upcoming week. In other news…"_

Mom finally slammed the remote into the coffee table. "What the _hell_ do they think they're doing? The _hell _they want us to do?!"

I looked to the clock for the first time. "Mom…it's one-fifty. When Dad gets home, we can decide. As a family. He might've heard more stuff about this since earlier."

But the clock on the oven switched gleefully to two, then two-thirty, two-forty-five. Mom began walking back and forth across the living room before grabbing the phone. "He said he'd be home at _two_."

There was no answer at his cell, and his work phone was silent too. I could feel panic slowly growing in my chest. He said he'd be back. He promised. Dad never broke promises. Mom kept pacing, holding the phone in a death-grip. Suddenly, we heard a barely-audible _buzz_ in the kitchen. Mom's cell phone jittered across the laminate counter, and she scooped it up by the end of the second tone.

"A text from Dad," she explained, and unlocked it. Her face slowly fell, and she shook her head.

"Mom…what's wrong?"

"He isn't allowed to call…the military's detained him, they detained the whole town he's in. He can't come home for another day, at least."

"Detained? What d'you mean, 'detained'? Like quarantined? He doesn't live in that town!" I rose from the couch. "The virus isn't that spread out yet. The news said—"

"I _heard_ what the news said, Allie!" Mom snapped. "They all had different stories, all telling us to do different things! We don't know _anything _about what's going on, not really!"

I shut my mouth and looked away. Mom tapped out a message on the screen and relayed the reply. "He says that they just now gave him his phone back, but he only gets it for a bit. They don't want anyone else going to that town, and they're mobilizing all around the county. Every county. He believes us now," she gave a humorless laugh. "Now he does. Says he saw them himself."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah; he loves us and'll see us soon. 'Spending the night in a hotel', he says."

I nodded, reassured. The images of my dad being herded along in the streets by armed men in military outfits and tanks policing their every move vanished. He would just wait it out in the hotel, like when a storm delays a flight. Mom put the phone down.

"That was his good-bye text, too. They had to hand over their electronics or something. Make sure they weren't telling people to come and get them. Guess that makes sense. People do crazy things when they're scared."

"Are you scared?" I looked at her.

She hesitated before shaking her head slightly. "No, honey; I'm not. Insane stuff happens sometimes, but it always goes back to normal. You know?"

I gave a half-hearted smile. "Right. Yeah…" I trailed off, suddenly noticing a soft, piercing note in the air. Turning, I noticed that it was coming from the television, where we had left one of the stations talking about sports. Now instead of a newscaster, there were only white and yellow and green stripes across the screen. I narrowed my eyes. "…Mom?"

"Testing program," she verified. "Weird, though. Must be having tech problems. Those never come on during the day."

Picking up the remote, I began to flip through the channels. Several of them were still working, but over half had been replaced by the pastel stripes and incessant humming. Mom walked over next to me and pressed the Power button. "They're just having issues. Frantic people mess things up."

As the screen winked out, I turned to her. "Well, then, what do we do?"

"We wait. I have some magazines. C'mon." her tone was clipped.

And so we waited, read catalogues, and talked about possible evacuation plans until nearly six o'clock, when the first tank rolled into my hometown.

[¬º-°]¬

**Thanks for sticking with me, readers! If you want to let me know how I'm doing so far, just drop a review in that box down there on your way out. :) Love you all! Happy writing!**

******(In reference to the summary, "Summa Cum Laude" is a term used by colleges for certain graduates. It means 'with highest honors')**


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